SIGNING ON: In his final dispatch, our columnist – now writing in the first person – calls for a rethink on attitudes to older, unemployed men and women
‘HE” BECOMES “I” in this, the last of an eight-month series. “He” was mostly me, but the experiences of other long-term unemployed were amalgamated. That is not to imply that the depression was not mine, nor the overwhelming feelings of isolation, the loss of purpose, focus, self-esteem. But these emotions and feelings I have heard replicated countless times; I’ve interviewed numerous psychiatrists and psychotherapists whose client lists of middle-class unemployed has recently swelled. All expressed grave concern over the long-term mental health of so very many 40- and 50-something Irish men with families, staggering debt, and, until now, scant experience of depression. As one psychiatrist said, “The term ‘coping classes’ is perhaps the single greatest misnomer of the recession. Middle-aged men in particular are failing to adjust to new, potentially life-long realities.”
That psychiatrist predicts a rise in the number of suicides: “We have already encountered it at so-called upper levels of society: entrepreneurs who deemed themselves to have ‘failed’. Regrettably, we will soon begin to see it at other levels.”
Each time I performed the “dole shuffle” I made sure to talk to the men and women around me. Some I went for coffee with. Some I taped. I have attempted to create an “everyman” - and unwittingly created a bogeyman for employers, who used the column as a means of keeping (overworked) staff in check. But it was me in the room with the shrink, me on the motorbike in the mountains, trying not to remember another life. Me in court for an unpaid debt, me the old lady in Wicklow gave the apple pie to, me in the gym hitting the bag until my shoulders ached. And me, some days, so full of rancour I found it hard to play with my two beautiful daughters.
(But I always managed that much.)
***
It was me letting go of the anger, relinquishing dreams, ego, vanity. Me in the scrap yard, me learning to mend and make do. It wasn’t always me giving up, however: some of the men I interviewed are not as strong as I am. Not as durable. My background as a writer means I have become used, if not quite inured, to rejection.
One architect I spoke to explained that until his practice failed, the worst thing that had happened to him (professionally) was nouveau riche clients rejecting his designs. What do I say to his ilk? Get used to rejection. Get tough. If necessary, and if at all possible, get off this rock.
My view of this island has been soured. I am not talking of its aesthetic or scenic values, but I no longer think ours a beautiful country (Christ, did you read the HSE report on at-risk children?)
However, I think it might yet be. But only when we all learn to be as honest as I’ve been. Only when we ask for help, formally. When we re-learn the fundamental notion of support and assistance and re-establish principles of community, neighbour, friend.
***
It wasn’t me on telly. It wasn’t me on the radio. It wasn’t my phone ringing with producers and programme-makers eager to give further voice to the new middle-class, private-schooled, university-educated unemployed.
It was none of us. It was the usual suspects pontificating. And, laughably, not one of them ever signed on. Not even for a day.
***
I waited three-and-a-half months to see a State psychiatrist and only then because my brother’s wife pulled strings. The average waiting list is six to eight months. God forbid I had been suicidal, as some of the men I have interviewed are.
The “fire brigade” approach to mental health is going to cost us dear.
***
If we are to come through this, we must re-think attitudes to older, jobless men and women. Prospective employers should, in my estimation, target this group specifically – and not because it is often too old to emigrate. This grouping is the one that has the most experience of life. Because most of them have children and mortgages, it is the group most likely to offer loyalty. To make sacrifices. To help businesses grow.
Give us a chance. A day a week. Involve us. Tap into our experience. Please.
***
Thank you so much for all your letters. For listening.
This is “he” (and me) at 48, alive, kicking, planning, hoping, failing and dreaming.
Me, signing off.
(Well, in one sense at least.)
Series concluded